


Let Go (Revisited)

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-15
Updated: 2006-03-15
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Deathfic, with the reset button hit. (01/03/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 2.24 "First Flight."  
  
Set just before the end of Season 2. Written in response to challengeâ€”use the sentence 'OK to die now?' in a Deathfic. So long ago, that I can't remember who set the challenge and when! Author's note's P.S.: I always feel guilty when killing off a character, so assuaged the guilt with a sparkly, happy, shiny RESET BUTTON!!!!!!!!! This is the same fic as "Let Go" but with the shiny reset button hit.  


* * *

Trip grunted as he thrust into his lover, gripping Jon by his hips as he pounded into him. Jon rocked on his hands and knees in time with Trip's rhythm, groaning in a low, steady almost-hum, one of his hands coming up to milk his own cock.

"Oh, god, Charlie, fuck me," he moaned, bucking his hips at an even faster pace, one that Trip strove to match. "Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard."

Inspired by his lover's filthy mouth, Trip thrust even faster, even harder, until Jon was giving little breathless grunts of pleasure at the end of each stroke.

Trip came with a shout and Jon's own orgasm followed within a matter of seconds. They collapsed together in a sweaty heap of satiated flesh and limbs, tangled around one another.

"Jesus Christ, Jon," Trip panted, pressing his head to the other man's chest. "That was amazin'."

Jon let out a chuff of laughter, kissing his lover's forehead. "Maybe we should argue more often. Our make up fucks are always amazing." He manoeuvred Trip until the younger man was stretched out on top of him like a human comforter. "But I prefer making love."

"You're a big ol' softie, aren't you?" Trip smiled, kissing Jon and stroking his sweat soaked hair back from his broad forehead. "A romantic."

"You know me." Jon bought his hand up and caressed Trip's face, tracing the line of his lips with a finger. "I love you."

"Love you too." Trip put his head back down on Jon's shoulder and they held each other, needing to be close. He could feel Jon's heart beating, its soft pulse a comforting flutter against his chest. He wanted to stay like this forever, just him and Jon, wrapped up in one another.

They'd fallen into a semi-doze when the com chirped softly, jolting them out of their post-coitial languor. "T'Pol to Archer."

"Aw, damnit," Trip moaned, as Jon moved an arm and hit the com button.

"Archer. What's the problem, T'Pol?"

"Captain, we have been hailed by a F'ta scout ship intending to initiate first contact with humans. The president of their world's leading country wishes to speak with you and arrange a meeting."

Jon sighed; it was barely audible, but a sigh all the same. "Now?"

"Now would be an opportune time, Captain."

"I'll be there in 10." Jon stopped just short of rolling his eyes at Trip as he sat up. "Archer out."

Sitting up cross-legged in bed, Trip watched as Jon climbed out of their warm cocoon, admiring the play of muscles across his naked body. Jon had an incredibly fine ass and Trip just couldn't get enough of it. The rest of Jon matched up to the quality of his ass too. He was toned and taut and tight in all the right places and never self-conscious about showing his body off to his husband. In fact, he was something of a tease and enjoyed making trip horny as Hell. He performed a series of stretches, extending his arms to their fullest reach before bending down to place his palms flat against the floor. Flexible, too. He even managed to make putting his uniform on sexy.

Trip gave him just enough time to dress and then he was out of the bed in a second. He plastered himself up against Jon, grabbed hold of his ass and squeezed. "Goddamn, you're hot."

Jon grinned, ducking in for a kiss then pulling away. "Likewise. I better go, baby. Hopefully I can set up a face to face with the F'ta for the morning and we can spend the rest of the evening together." He finished dresseing hurriedly. "Do I look decent? Or do I still have that 'Just been fucked six ways 'til Sunday' look?"

Trip looked him over. Suffering from a serious case of bed-head, face flushed pink, lips slightly kiss swollen, there was no mistaking what Jon had been doing 15 minutes previously. Shoving his fingers through Jon's hair in an effort to push it back into place, Trip winced. "Darlin', they're gonna know what we were doin' before T'Pol interrupted."

Jon shrugged, clipping his ranks pins into place. "We're a married couple and it's our 8th Anniversary. I think our crew are big boys and girls that can handle knowing that their captain has a love life." They shared one final kiss and he left their quarters.

* * *

Jon held still as Trip checked the oxygen hoses on his EV suit, resisting the urge to fidget. He couldn't wait to get planet side and meet the F'ta, the humanoid—well, _mostly_ humanoid—race that had made contact with them. Technologically on a par with Earth, with warp five capabilities, they had yet to venture out of their own system. They had the expertise and hardware, but they chose not to use it, content in the knowledge that they had solved the riddle of warp technology and that if the need should arise, they could travel to another solar system. Vulcan had made contact with them some 7 years ago and the Vulcan database actually spoke with something approaching enthusiasm about these people. The F'ta were very scientifically minded and lived for the accumulation of knowledge, but not experience; if they could discover something in a lab, rather than go out and poke and prod the physical evidence, then they would. Plus they seemed to like using unnecessary apostrophes in their language, something Vulcans were big on. No wonder they got on so well.

The president, a woman name Tyn'ra, had been personable and witty when they spoke over the vid-screen, and they had chatted for almost two hours. When he'd finally signed off, he felt that he'd known her a lifetime and was left wondering why the Vulcans had taken to a species that were almost the exact polar opposite to their own, at least in terms of personality.

"Quit movin', Jon, and let me finish checkin' your oxygen," Trip scolded.

Jon held still and let Trip finish. "Done?"

"Done," Trip confirmed, as he screwed the hose into place and secured the seal. "Remember, be careful."

Jon felt a flash of irritation at Trip's mother hen routine. His constant worrying about Jon's safety had been the root cause of their argument the previous evening and he wasn't in the mood for a repeat. "OK to die now, Trip?" he snapped, then immediately regretted it when Trip's face fell. "Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I know you worry."

Clicking Jon's visor into place, Trip shrugged it off. "I know. Just—you know." He tapped the helmet. "OK, you're good to go."

Jon took Trip's hand in his own, his glove-covered fingers thick and clumsy. "I'll be careful, I promise."

With a nod, Trip squeezed back. "You'd better be." His voice sounded strained. "Let your security team take the risks. That's their job. OK?"

"OK." With a smile, Jon climbed down into the shuttle pod and Trip sealed the hatch behind him. Hoshi, T'Pol and Malcolm were seated, Mayweather at the helm. Just a small away team. Trip would have been with them if not for a series of engine tests he wanted to run.

"Let's go." He settled into his seat. "Make it a slow descent, Travis, nice and easy. Give them plenty of time to run all the scans they want to, so they can get accustomed to us."

"Aye, sir." Travis took them down into orbit around Haa'tl, the F'ta home world. It was small and emerald green, partially obscured by cloud, and looked beautiful and serene. The atmosphere held a high level of carbon dioxide, hence the EV suits. Jon made a mental note to ask for a small, portable respirator to be designed; they would be ideal for situations like this, when they needed to visit a place with an unsuitable atmosphere. The EV suits, whilst top of the range, were still bulky and weighed 15llbs even before the oxygen tank was hooked up.

The descent to the surface took maybe 10 minutes, Travis purposefully pulling back on their speed. He set down at their designated touch- down point, a small, concreted circle of ground. A cluster of F'ta waited some 20 meters away.

They were ethereally beautiful. Jon had been struck by how angelic Tyn'ra had appeared, and had been quite taken by her, but he'd never dreamed that the entire species would be as breathtakingly gorgeous. Tall and slim, they moved with fluid grace, seemingly floating above the ground. Tyn'ra led the way. She was even more beautiful in person, with auburn hair flowing to her knees, and sparkling bright green eyes. Her companions, a mixture of men and women, were equally stunning. Their skin tone varied from palest ivory to ebony, each person's colouring unique and they seemed luminous.

Tyn'ra stepped in front of Jon and took both of his hands into hers. Her smile was as pretty as she was, lips vivid pink against the creamy peach of her skin. "Captain Archer. On behalf of the people of Haa'tl, I welcome you to our planet."

He returned her smile. "President Tyn'ra, we thank you for your invitation to meet with you. As a representative of Earth, I hope that we can establish a relationship between our people."

She laughed, a charming sound, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Time to dispense with the formalities. Call me Tyn. May I call you Jonathan?"

He nodded his agreement as the crowd began to move. His officers were all on the arm of a F'ta, even T'Pol, and were following behind. "I apologise for the EV suits, but human and Vulcan biology can't tolerate the high levels of carbon dioxide in your atmosphere."

Tyn'ra waved the comment off. "We are accustomed to our off-world visitors wearing protective clothing, Jonathan. You are married, yes?"

Surprised by the randomness of her question, he blurted, "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity. I just see you as a married man. Unfortunate. I believe we could have indulged in a little inter-species sexual intercourse. Judging by the records you kindly provided us with, we are sexually compatible.

Jon stopped in his tracks, speechless. "Do—do all of your people extend this—courtesy—to visitors?"

With a giggle, she ducked her head. "No, no." Then she added teasingly, "Just the attractive visitors."

He didn't know quite how to take that. He really wasn't up to spec on inter-species flirting. She must have sensed his confusion, because she patted his arm. "I'm only teasing. But the offer would stand..."

"I think my husband would have some objections, but I'm flattered," Jon said, hoping that he wouldn't offend her.

"Your husband? You have a same sex partner?"

"Uh huh," he confirmed, not sure what her reaction would be. But he needn't have worried, as he was treated to that smile again.

"How refreshing. The majority of F'ta engage in sexual relationships with members of both sexes. But most species we encounter are somewhat taken aback by that. How long have you been married to —"

"-Charlie," he finished. "Eight years yesterday. We just celebrated our anniversary."

"Is he with you on Enterprise?" They'd reached a massive, ornate building, and one of her companions pushed open the doors for her.

He nodded as they stepped inside. "He's my chief engineer and third in command."

"it is wonderful, that he is with you. Does it scare you, being so far away from your planet out here?"

"Scare me? No. I love being out here. It's all I ever wanted, ever since I was a child. I feel at home in space." They had entered a huge hall, which was dominated by a conference table running the length of it. It was somewhat difficult to sit in the chairs lined up along the table, what with the cumbersome O tanks on their backs, but they managed it. It meant perching on the very edge of the chair, which was uncomfortable, but it did the trick.

Tyn'ra beamed happily at them all. "Humans. How wonderful to finally get the opportunity to meet you. The Vulcans kindly gave us basic information on all species with warp capabilities, and we are fascinated by your race. Now, about our plans for your visit. We thought that you might enjoy looking at the data on our world, read about life here. Our customs." She was caressing his thigh beneath the table.

He almost jumped out of his seat. "Would you mind if I took my team out to explore your planet? It's just that we haven't been off our ship in nearly three months and I think we'd all like the chance to stretch our legs."

Tyn'ra's smile faded a little, but quickly came back to full strength. "Of course. But only within a 2-mile radius of this building, and I must insist on assigning you a guard. There are several dangerous animals in the surrounding countryside, and I'd fear for your safety if you ventured out alone." She gestured at a red-haired man standing at the entrance to the hall. "C'tos, please accompany Captain Archer and his team on their survey of our planet."

Somewhat bemused, Jon led his people outside, the guard following several paces behind, out of earshot. He gathered the away team close. "I have a confession to make. Tyn'ra has been...well, she's been making advances, and I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. Actually, a _lot_ uncomfortable. I needed to get out of there for a little while."

"We had noticed, Sir," Hoshi grinned. "Don't worry, we won't tell Commander Tucker."

"It's not funny! She grabbed my leg under the table." Jon shook his head as the human members of the team sniggered. "Oh, come on, let's run some scans and get out of here. I don't want to hang around any longer than we have to, otherwise Tyn'ra might do something I'd regret."

They were on their way back to the government buildings when the shooting started. "Get down!" he snapped, dropping and rolling into a defensive stance, phase pistol in his hand. Malcolm had assumed the same position next to him, and was scanning for the sniper.

C'Tos, the F'ta Guard, was down and definitely dead, half his head blown away.

"Sir?" Hoshi's voice was shaking. "Sir, I'm hit."

He turned to look at her. She'd been hit in the leg, just below her knee, and she had her hand pressed to the wound. The hole in the material of the EV suit had automatically sealed itself over the injury to maintain the environmental levels, preventing Jon from getting a proper look at the damage.

"T'Pol, take care of Hoshi. Keep her conscious." He glanced over at Malcolm. "How many?"

"Three, sir." As Malcolm answered, he fired his weapon. "Make that two."

Behind them, Hoshi was weakening. Her breathing was ragged and she was losing colour. T'Pol was talking softly to her, probably trying to lead her into a meditative state. It seemed to be working—the linguist's respiration was levelling out into a more even rhythm.

"T'Pol?"

"She will be fine, Captain. But we need to get Ensign Sato medical attention as soon as possible." T'Pol's voice was calm and modulated and Jon appreciated that steadiness, drew comfort from it.

Hoshi had to be in pain; Jon had been on the receiving end of a plasma blast before and they hurt like hell, but she managed to smile for him. "I'm alright, sir."

He touched her hand. "Chin up, Ensign." He turned his attention back to the situation at hand as another plasma bullet his the ground by his hip. He fired back at the flash and was rewarded with a yell. "Two down, one to go, Malcolm. We have to make this quick."

Malcolm let off a burst, and chuckled. "Quick enough for you, Captain?"

Jon cuffed him on the shoulder. "Quick enough, lieutenant. We need to move out of here, no. All clear?"

All clear," Malcolm confirmed, and they got to their feet. Hoshi's legs wouldn't hold her; she collapsed as soon as they tried to get her to stand.

Jon swept her up into his arms. He didn't trust anyone else with his long time friend. Hoshi meant a lot to him and he intended to make sure she was taken care of. She weighed next to nothing, despite the heavy EV suit. "We're leaving. Com the ship and let them know we're on our way back to Enterprise."

It took them fifteen minutes to get back to the compound. Hoshi was drifting in and out of consciousness and mumbling incoherently to herself. Jon kept talking to her, just nonsense about Porthos and waterpolo, in an effort to keep her awake.

They made it back to the shuttlepod without anyone taking anymore potshots at them. Hoshi was unconscious and failing fast, a limp bundle in his arms.

10 metres from the 'pod, T'Pol paused, staring at her scanner. "Captain, I am detecting a fault in the electrical grid. There is a fluctuation."

"The hatch has been fused open, sir," Malcolm pointed out. "The seal is broken."

Jon reacted immediately, listening to his gut. "Move and get under cover!" he ordered. "Go!"

His crewmates didn't question his command. People exploded out of the pod as they turned and ran. Jon had just enough time to hunch protectively over Hoshi before the blast caught him in the back and the world blacked out.

  * Trip walked towards sickbay with purpose in his stride. How dare they tell him that he couldn't see Jon? To Hell with that. 



The doors were locked, so he pounded on them. "Let me in, damnit. I wanna see my husband. Let me see Jon!"

Cutler spoke through the com. "Commander, Captain Archer is seriously injured. It would be very distressing for you to see him at the moment." She was covered in blood—Jon's blood?—and looked sick to her stomach.

"'Distressing'? Hah." Trip ripped the cover off of the door's circuit panel and tweaked a couple of wires. The doors slid apart. "You wanna see distressed? Try keepin' me from him just one minute longer."

"Commander, I must insist ..." Cutler stepped in front of him, bloodied hands held up as if to keep him out of the sickbay. "Please, Sir. It's bad."

"Captain Archer is dying, Commander." Phlox slipped out from behind a cubicle curtain. "There is no higher brain activity and his brain stem is barely functioning. It is only a matter of time. "

"I need to see him, be with him. Please, Phlox."

Phlox took a deep breath. "I must warn you that his external injuries are severe, Commander. A phase blast hit the back of his skull and there is severe burning along the energy discharge path. The heat caused by the weapon partially melted his EV helmet and his left arm was almost completely severed by another phase charge. The weapons that the attackers used are abhorrent. "

Mute, Trip followed the doctor into a cubicle and almost broke down when he saw Jon.

Almost nothing remained of the man that he loved. The left side of his face was badly burnt, the thick plastic faceplate of the EV helmet melted into his skin, twisting his features into something unrecognisable. His left arm was encased in an inflated sheath of bright orange plastic. His eyes were open, the pupils dilated, sclera bloodshot. He looked dead, _should_ have been dead, but somehow, his heart kept beating, his lungs kept breathing.

Trip's legs buckled and Phlox was there to support him, urging him to sit. "He is not in any pain, Commander. Jonathan Archer is not in there anymore. His body is just running down. The damage sustained by the blast was instantaneous. I doubt he even knew what happened."

Trip took Jon's hand in his, cradling it gently. "You're still givin' him pain relief, aren't ya? Just in case?"

"Yes, I am." Phlox adjusted something then placed a hand on Trip's shoulder, an unusual gesture of comfort from the Denobulan. "Would you like some time alone with him? I doubt that it will be long now."

"Thanks." Trip barely noticed Phlox leave. Jon was his sole focus.

Jon's breathing sounded thick and wet and blood bubbled at his lips. Trip wiped it away then climbed up onto the biobed next to Jon. It was a tight fit, but he shifted so that they were hip to hip.

"What am I gonna do, baby?" he whispered. "I don't think I can live without ya. I know I don't _want_ to."

Jon was still clinging to life two hours later, his body as tenacious as his mind had been. Phlox took care to squash any sign of hope Trip expressed, stressing that there wasn't going to be any last minute miracle cure—Jon was going to die.

The waiting was killing Trip. He didn't want Jon to die, but seeing him like this was torture. To see a brilliant, vital man like Jon reduced to this was cruel.

Trip sat up and stroked Jon's right temple, seemingly the only place on his lover's face that was unscathed. "Jon, darlin', it's OK to die now. You can let go. Just drift off."

There were no last words, no declaration of love with his last dying breath: Jon simply breathed out and he was gone. His beautiful green eyes were blank and staring and Trip brushed his fingers across them to close the lids. He dropped a kiss on Jon's parched lips. "Night, sugar. Sleep peacefully."

Phlox came over, alerted by the monitors. "Commander, Captain Archer has passed away." The doctor's voice was shaky and his grief had stolen his usual joviality.

"Yeah. I know." Trip gathered Jon's body into his arms and held him close. "I need to stay with him, just for a little while."

Phlox nodded and retreated again, living Trip with his husband. He didn't ever want to let go—as long as Jon was in his arms, then he could pretend that it wasn't real, that it was all just a bad dream,

He didn't know how long he lay there with his love, but Jon was cool to the touch when Phlox came back with a folded white sheet in his hands.

"If you're ready, I need to move the body prior to post mortem."

"No," Trip said, tonelessly.

"No?" Phlox echoed.

"No. Not 'the body'. Jonathan. Captain Archer. My _husband_." Trip left the bed and took the sheet from Phlox, shaking it out. "Why do you have to do a post mortem? Isn't it pretty obvious how he died?" He spread the sheet over Jon, pulling it up to his shoulders.

Phlox began to unclip the tubes that were attached to Jon. "Startfleet protocol insists on a post mortem when a crew member dies. Rest assured that Captain Archer will be treated with the utmost respect and that I will not do anything unnecessary."

"Can you—can you make him—I need ..." Trip took a deep breath and tried again. "I can't have this be the last image of him I have in my head. I need to see him like he was."

"I can repair some of the damage, Commander. You will have to keep in mind that his injuries are extensive and the reconstruction will be limited by that, but you will have something to remember." Phlox moved to pull the sheet up over Jon's face and Trip stopped him, completing the task himself.

He didn't know how he made it back to their— _his_ —quarters. He felt removed from the world, like he was back in the clutches of that damned alien squid that had invaded the cargo hold a year back. He was running on auto-pilot.

He took a seat on the bed and Porthos came running up to him, eager to play after being left alone all day. Trip scooped him up and held him tightly "Your daddy isn't comin' home, Porthos," he told the dog, rubbing behind his ears. "It's just you and me, now, pup."

He curled up on the bed, Porthos lying alongside him. The throw smelt of Jon, like sandalwood and musk and the book he had been reading sat on the shelf above the bed, a slip of paper marking his place.

The thought that Jon would never finish reading that book made Trip lose it. He let out a wailing sob that sounded like it should have come from Porthos: no human throat was meant to make a noise like that.

Keening, Trip curled up even smaller and Porthos whined, licking his hand in an effort to console him. The bed dipped and a small hand settled on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Trip." It was Hoshi, her voice raw with grief. She looked like shit—her leg was bandaged, her face pale and she should have been in sickbay.

He grabbed onto her, desperate for human comfort, needing someone near and she rocked him, petted his hair. He sobbed and screamed and swore brokenly, his grief choking him. It was a physical presence in his throat that made it hard to breathe.

Hoshi took it all, clinging onto him and crooning nonsense words that comforted him anyway. She was crying when he eventually pulled away, her almond eyes full of tears.

"It's not fair, Hoshi," he whispered. "He should be here."

"I know," she soothed. "I know."

"He was supposed to go down in history as someone important. The first Captain of a warp 5 vessel, have schools names after him. Now he's gonna be a footnote in the history books. He's gonna be an asterisk." He pressed his hands to his face. "We were gonna explore the universe together then settle down in a little house on the beach in California and grow old together. He wasn't supposed to die because of some stupid old feud between a bunch of aliens."

"People will remember him." Hoshi was suddenly fierce. "We're not going to let people forget about Jon. He got this mission started Trip. Without him, Enterprise would still be in space dock and Starfleet would be arguing with the Vulcans about whether we were ready or not." He voice got softer and she took his hands in hers. "We won't forget him, I promise."

It was his turn to offer comfort and he pulled Hoshi into an embrace. She sobbed quietly against his shoulder, mourning the loss of her friend. She'd known Jon even longer than Trip had; he'd been sent to her school on a recruitment drive and he'd picked up on her talent for exo-lingustics and convinced her that Starfleet would be a wonderful opportunity for her to develop her skills further.

"Thanks, Hoshi," he said, as they broke the embrace.

"You don't need to thank me." She scrubbed at her face with her sleeve. "Jon died saving my life. He's a hero."

* * *

Jon looked as if he was sleeping peacefully. Phlox had somehow managed to cover up the terrible injuries and he looked like the Jon Trip remembered, dressed in a brand new uniform—standard issue instead of dress. Jon had always disliked the dress uniform and Trip figured he'd hate to wear it for eternity. His hands clasped were clasped over his abdomen and his wedding band encircled his ring finger.

Trip brushed his hand against the dead man's brow and touched the synthetic hair Phlox had used to cover up the burned scalp. It looked and felt real. "Y'look so damned handsome in your dress uniform but I know ya hate it, so screw protocol." He reached into his pocket and pulled out some photographs: Porthos, Enterprise in spacedock, a picture taken on their honeymoon in Maui. Jon looked tanned, fit and gorgeous, his muscular arms wrapped tightly around Trip. "Phlox said that I could put these in with you. I wanted to put a water polo ball 'n' some cheese in too, but he kinda drew the line at that."

"Commander? May I see the photohgraphs?"

Trip turned to see T'Pol standing there, her face troubled. She held out her hand and Trip handed her the photo from the honeymoon.

He could have sworn that a faint smile touched her lips. "You and the Captain look content in this photograph. You made a very attractive couple. May I?" She gestured at the coffin and at Trip's nod, placed the picture on Jon's stomach, just above his hands.

"I find that I am distressed without his presence." We had become—friends." He voice wavered, just for a moment.

"Yeah, I know. He loved ya in his own way, T'Pol. I think if things had been different between me and him, well, he woulda had a thing for ya."

"A—thing?"

"Yeah. A Thing. An attraction of a sexual nature."

She nodded in understanding. "I grieve the loss of a great man and friend. If you should desire to talk, please, do not hesitate to seek me out."

"Thanks, that's sweet of ya." On impulse, he hugged her and she didn't object, merely patted his back. "How do you feel about bein' Captain for a little while longer, T'Pol?"

"You do not feel ready to assume that duty yet? That is understandable and I am sure that Starfleet will agree. It will take time."

"Too much time. I'm quittin' Starfleet."

She gave him one of _those_ looks, the kind that saw right through him. "You are resigning?"

He had to fight the urge to squirm. "Yeah. I can't stand bein' on this ship without Jon. Porthos and I are gonna go live in Florida near my mom and raise citrus fruit."

"That would be a mistake. You should be Captain. Please, give yourself time to reconsider your decision." T'Pol turned towards the coffin-cum-modified cargo container and bowed deeply. "It was a pleasure to serve under your command, Captain Archer." Then she left, leaving Trip alone with his husband once more.

Taking one last look at the beloved features, he closed the casket, listening for the hiss of air that meant the seal had closed. It was time to send Jon on his final journey.

* * *

The area around the launch bay airlock was packed solid. Every member of the crew wanted to be there to pay their last respects to the man that had given his life to protect his crew. Even Porthos was there, secure in Hoshi's arms. The little pup had been sad and subdued of late and pined for Jon into the small hours.

Trip stood down in the launch bay, his hand resting on the cool metal of the makeshift coffin. The whole thing seemed unreal, like Jon was going to walk in at any minute and ask why everyone looked so damned sad.

Reluctantly he stepped away and climbed the stairs up to the airlock. The doors hissed shut behind him and Trip hit the release for the launchbay doors. The coffin dropped out of the bay and a small thruster ignited to push it away from the mother ship.

Jon was gone. Travis waited until the coffin was just a speck on the horizon and then went to warp 2, leaving their Captain to drift forever amongst the stars he loved.

* * *

Trip sat in front of his monitor trying to steady his breathing. He was almost as nervous as he had been on the morning of his marriage to Jon.

The com chirped softly and Admiral Forrest appeared on screen. "Commander Tucker, my secretary said that you wanted to speak to me." "Sorry to bother you, Admiral. I—I've been thinking about Jon, and my being Captain, and I need to talk to you."

The older man's expression softened. He wasn't trying to hide his grief and it showed plainly in his eyes, in the lines around his mouth. "Of course, son. What did you want to talk about?"

"I've been thinking about resigning, sir," Trip confessed, them back- tracked as Forrest opened his mouth, "But I'm not going to quit. I've decided that I'd like a shot at being Captain. I won't be ready to assume my duties for quite a while yet, it's too soon, but I figure that Jon would want me looking after his crew and his ship."

Admiral Forrest looked visibly relieved. "I must admit that I'm glad to hear that, Commander. Or should I say, Captain. I'll send an announcement to your crew to inform them that T'Pol is acting Captain until you feel ready to take command."

"Thanks, Admiral."

"No need to thank me, Trip. You're the best person for the job. Now, if these were different circumstances, we'd have held a ceremony for you, but I'm sure you're not in the mood for pomp and circumstance at the moment."

"Sir, I'm _never_ in the mood for pomp and circumstance," Trip told the man, with the faintest hint of amusement. "Never could stand bells and whistles."

Chuckling, Forrest shook his head. "Like Jon. He hated having to give speeches and deal with all the formalities. Starship jockeys never have any time for things like that. They'd rather be in the thick of things. And damn, that boy could fly a shuttle like no one else." He sighed. "I have to go. Jon's memorial is in thirty minutes. I'll send you a recording via subspace. First A.G. and now Jon ...Get some rest, Captain Tucker. Forrest out."

Emotionally drained, Trip watched as the screen went blank then looked over at Porthos, curled up in his basket. "I don't want to do this without Jonny," he told the pooch.

But he was going to have to. Life carried on regardless of death, even when you wanted to curl up and let the world go on without you. He was Captain Charles Tucker the Third now and he had a responsibility to the people on this ship. He had to carry on Jon's legacy.

He stared out of his window at the starscape, as if he could see Jon's coffin. "I'll miss you, babe. I never thought that I'd have to do this without you."

"Maybe you don't have to."

"Jesus Christ!" Trip started, jumping up out of his chair.

Daniels stood by the door. He looked older, his hair holding the first touches of grey in testament to the passage of time. Trip found the idea of a time traveller aging slightly absurd.

"You can stop it? Stop Jon dying?" He knew that he sounded pathetic, but he had to ask. "Please say that you can stop it."

"No." Daniels shook his head. "But you can."

* * *

Trip was about ready to scream from sheer frustration. Jon had just calmly informed him that he was going with the away team, whether Trip liked it or not. He just couldn't get through to his stubborn- ass husband.

"I wanna come with you." Even to his own ears he sounded like a petulant child.

"Your engines, Trip, remember? You've been complaining that they need an overhaul for weeks. Now's your chance. Don't worry, we'll be fine." Jon grinned from behind his visor. "I'll be careful. OK?"

Defeated, Trip nodded. "OK. Just come back safe." He held on to Jon's hands, loathe to let him go. This was his Jon: he was alive and warm and vital, handsome and determined. _Real_.

Jon bent his knees slightly so that they were on the same eyelevel. "Hey, sweetheart, what brought this on?"

Trip had to fight the tears that welled up. He'd been here for just four hours—Daniels had somehow taken him back in time without him even realising it and when he'd stepped out of his cabin, it was to find that everything was OK. He'd found Jon on the bridge, going over last minute reports about Haa'tl, laughing and joking with the bridge crew. The mood had been light-hearted and jovial.

When Trip had seen his love sitting there in the Captain's Chair, it had taken all his self-control to keep from running over to Jon and grabbing him tight. Daniels had repeatedly said that it was important that Jon not know about Trip travelling back in time. Jon was to play an important part in the development of the correct timeline—the future depended on his being alive.

So he'd made himself stand by the elevator doors for a long moment, composing himself. He held on to the wall for support, scared that his knees would buckle from the sheer weight of the emotion pressing down on him.

Jon, with that freaky sixth sense of his that always seemed to alert him to Trip's presence, had turned in his chair to look at him. "Trip? Is everything OK?"

Trip had nodded and moved onto the bridge, pleased that he didn't stumble. "Sure, C'pn."

So here he was, reliving the last time he'd seen his husband alive and well and it was _killing_ him. He wanted to hold onto Jon, shoot him in the leg, tie him up, anything to keep him safe on Enterprise. But he couldn't do that. Jon was used to him constantly worrying, but hysteria and clinging wasn't Trip's style. Jon would figure out that something was going on straight away.

So he rapped the top of Jon's helmet and grinned. "Bring me back a souvenir."

Jon smiled, eyes sparking, and turned to his assembled away team. "Let's go."

Trip watched as Jon followed the others down into the shuttle pod, keeping his eyes trained on him until the hatch was closed.

All he could do now was wait as the time of the ambush approached and try and come up with a plan. He didn't know how he was supposed to change things without making Jon—or anyone else—suspicious.

He went to the bridge and sat in the Captain's chair. An hour passed; two. The com system chirped and T'Pol told them that Hoshi had been injured and that the away team would be returning to the ship in ten minutes.

He stood. He knew what he had to do, and to hell with preserving the time-line. "Tucker to Rostov."

"Rostov."

"Meet me at the Transporter. I'm going down to the planet."

"Sir?"

"Just get there." Trip was off the bridge and in the turbolift in a matter of seconds. Warning Jon by communicator wouldn't work; he'd brush it off as trip being overly cautious again. No, Trip had to be there.

Rostov was waiting at the transporter when Trip arrived. He helped the commander into his EV suit then turned to fiddle with the control panel. The transporter platform powered up and a faint hum filled the room. "We're good to go, sir."

Trip stepped into place. "Do it." He closed his eyes as the hum turned into a whine and when he opened them again, he was 30 meters from the 'pod and the Away Team were approaching fast. They paused and T'Pol took out her scanner.

Trip ran headlong towards them, screaming "It's an ambush!" at the top of his lungs. They didn't hear him; his com system wasn't set to transmit.

He tackled Jon around the shoulders, sending him and Hoshi flying as the alien assailants tumbled out of the pod. He grabbed his phase pistol and began firing wildly in the direction of the craft, aware of Jon lying behind him. Malcolm was returning fire and took out a couple of the F'ta. A F'ta security team stormed out of the buildings behind them and began shooting at the rebel faction.

Finally, all of the enemy F'ta were down and Trip pulled himself up off of the floor, ears ringing.

The away team were all flat out on the ground and making attempts to sit up. All, that was, except for Hoshi and Jon. Jon had curved his body protectively around Hoshi's.

"Oh shit, oh shit, not again," Trip whispered, scrabbling on hands and knees to Jon's side. Desperate, he turned Jon onto his back. His arm was a mess, but the rest of him appeared unscathed. A small hairline crack marred the surface of his faceplate, but it remained intact. Trip pressed the com button on Jon's breastplate and the wonderful sound of his breathing filled Trip's ears.

He gestured for T'Pol and she moved to tend to Hoshi, who was just beginning to stir.

Placing a hand on Jon's uninjured shoulder, he shook him gently. "Jon? Jon, wake up, baby. Please, don't leave me, not again."

Jon's eyes fluttered open. He was obviously dazed and hurting but he was there, _alive_."Never leave you," he mumbled. "Never."

Trip let out a small sob of relief, hunching himself over Jon. "You're ok. You're ok," he repeated, over and over.

He couldn't be persuaded to let go of Jon. He held onto him until another shuttlepod arrived, he held onto him all the way back to the ship and he held onto him all the way back to sickbay.

Phlox gently moved him aside so that he could tend to Jon, who was unconscious again. The initial examination showed that the injury to his left arm was the worst, with severe muscle and tendon damage and Phlox encased it in the orange, inflatable splint that Trip remembered from the original history.

Trip sat at his bedside and watched Phlox work. He couldn't take it all in. Six hours previously, he had been all but consumed by grief, facing life without his soulmate. Now he had Jon back.

He bowed his head into his hands and sobbed unashamedly, his shoulders shaking with the force of his cries.

T'Pol knelt in front of him as Phlox continued to treat Jon. "Commander?"

"I coulda lost him, T'Pol."

She looked at him with that piercing gaze of hers. "How did you know about the ambush, Commander?"

"I—uh—I ran some scans." He didn't sound convincing, and she didn't look like she had fallen for it.

"You acted as though you had experienced this before."

Oh, she knew. She _knew_. He met her gaze, refusing to admit anything. "I just had a bad feeling."

She raised an eloquent brow. "Indeed. I think that we should all be grateful that you acted on your' bad feeling'. I'm sure that Crewman Daniels would agree."

_Bullshit_ she didn't believe in time travel. Trip watched her leave, then shook his head. T'Pol had a greater understanding of humans than she let on.

On the bio-bed, Jon groaned and touched his injured arm. "Trip? Y'ok?" he slurred, his eyes clouded and unfocused. Phlox shone a penlight into his eyes and his patient flinched away

"I'm fine, darlin'," Trip soothed. "I'm fine as frog hair. You just concentrate on gettin' well. You got a little banged about."

"Everyone ok?" Jon shifted on the bed and gasped in pain, which resulted in a telling off from Phlox.

"Yeah. Cutler tells me that Hoshi is going to need surgery on her leg, but no one else was injured." He threaded his fingers through Jon's hair. "Relax. Get some rest."

"You transported down. How did you know?" His words were almost unintelligible; he seemed ready to fall asleep.

This time, the lie came easily. "Ran some scans, something didn't seem right."

"Coulda commed me."

"Not enough time. Listen, don't worry about that now. It's over. Everyone is safe." Trip kissed his love on the lips. "Get some rest, and I'll be here when you wake up."

"You'd be wise to listen to the Commander, Captain. You need extensive surgery on your arm, and it will be taking place in approximately three hours. I suggest you take that time to rest." Phlox looped an oxygen line around Jon's head and slid the cannulas into his nostrils. "Your body is under extreme stress and your oxygen levels are low."

"Uh huh." Jon didn't appear to be willing to let go of Trip's hand, so the Commander climbed up onto the bed with him.

Then everything changed. In the space of a blink, he was his own bed, wearing gym shorts instead of his uniform. The date display on the monitor told him that it was three days after the accident that killed Jon.

"No," Trip moaned. "Oh, God, no."

"Trip? What's wrong?" The bathroom door slid open and Jon hurried into the room. His left arm was strapped to his body and he held a toothbrush in his right hand. "Are you ok?"

Relief flooded through Trip and he sagged, collapsing in on himself. The events of the last three days fell into place. Somehow, Daniels had brought him forward in time without him even realising it. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ok." He held his hand out to Jon and pulled him down onto the bed. "Make love to me, Jon."

Jon gave him The Look. The one that said Jon thought Trip was an insatiable hussy. The kind of look he got after an all- nighter. "Again? We've already gone three rounds tonight. Not that I'm complaining, but you've been having to do all the work. I'm not sure an old man like me can cope with this much excitement in one night."

"I need you inside me." Trip pressed Jon backwards onto the mattress and parted him from his shorts. He kicked diligently at Jon's cock and was rewarded with an erection. "See? I think this broken old man can take one more round."

Jon looked down at his hardening dick with surprise. "I can't remember the last time I got hard this many times in the space of four hours. Probably not since I was about 16." He looked back up at Trip with suspicion as the man straddled him. "Did you slip something into my coffee?"

"No, but you're gonna slip something into me," Trip moaned as Jon moved his good hand around to slip a finger inside him, testing his readiness. "Don't bother with that, I'm ready. In me." He gave a grunt as he pushed against Jon's cock, and then sighed with satisfaction as it slipped into him.

He'd thought this was over. He'd never expected to feel Jon inside him again, or to respond to the feel of his strong, talented hands running over his body.

"Faster," he begged, and Jon obeyed, giving it his all. He'd obviously picked up on Trip's frantic need and responded in kind, fucking him like there was no tomorrow. Which had very nearly been the case.

Trip threw his head back and rode Jon to within an inch of his life, doing his best to avoid banging against Jon's injured arm. Phlox would have a fit if Jon ended back up in sickbay as a result of his sexual adventures.

They both came with a shout and Trip collapsed next to Jon, pressing his body close to his lover.

"I haven't fucked like that since college," Jon gasped, cradling his arm. "Jesus."

Trip laughed and kissed Jon softly. "Me either. If we did this every night, I'd never have any energy." Then his smile crumbled. "I could have lost you, Jon."

"You didn't. I'm here," Jon assured him. "There's still one thing I want to know."

"Yeah?"

"Why did you transport down to the planet? You could have commed me. I would have listened to you."

Trip squirmed. "Uh—well—I figured if you were gonna die, then I wanted to go out with you." As he said it, he realised that it was the truth. He'd had so many other options open to him, but instead he'd gone for the one most likely to get him killed, probably because, deep down, he didn't believe that he'd be able to stop it

Jon looked up at the ceiling, pensive. "You know, sometimes I think I should just quit so that we can have a normal life. You could have a normal husband to come home to you every night, one that didn't try his best to get killed every other day, who ..."

",,, resented me for making me give up his dreams?" Trip finished for him, with a frown. "Jon, I never said that I want you to give this up. It's part of who you are. You belong out here. _We_ belong out here. You captain the ship, I look after her engines." He snuggled up to Jon, mindful of his still healing injuries. "Let's get some rest. Phlox told you to take it easy for the next two weeks, and I rode you kinda hard tonight." He didn't know where that piece of information came from—it was just there.

Jon laughed. "You did go for it, didn't you, you horny little bastard?"

"Just wanted to welcome you home." Trip pulled the blankets up over them, and Porthos jumped up to lay at the foot of the bed.

It made for a sweet picture of domesticity—husband, husband and dog—and Trip felt profoundly grateful to be experiencing it again. He'd had it all ripped cruelly away from him and given back, in the space of 72 hours. There was nothing like losing everything to make a man truly appreciate just what he had.

He kissed Jon's chest then pillowed his head against it. "Will you start listening to Malcolm about security protocols now, and take a bit more care?"

He could see Jon getting ready to snap at him, but his lover reconsidered. "Yeah, I will. I've always know that you worry for a reason, but this made me realise just how easy it is to get killed out here. I'll be more careful, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Trip told him. "We're going to grow old together, remember?"

"And live in a little house on the beach," Jon agreed. "With lots of beagles."

"Sounds good to me. I change my mind, can we retire now?"

Jon shrugged. "Sure. We'll turn Enterprise around, head back to spacedock and tell 'em that we quit and that we're going to go and be beach bums in California."

"Porthos could run up and down the beach every evening." The pup looked up as Trip said his name, then snuck up the bed to drape himself over Jon's legs.

"Gerroff," Jon mumbled, his eyes closing. "Gerroff, Porthos." Even as he said it, he embraced his dog with his uninjured arm and fell asleep.

Smiling softly, Trip tightened his hold on his husband. The soft rumble of his snore was like music to his ears. He couldn't stop watching him, couldn't get enough of him. He had his Jon back, alive and well, if slightly dented.

He sensed something in the room and turned his head. Daniels stood by the door, a broad grin on his face.

"Hello, Commander."

Panic gripped Trip. "What? What goes wrong?"

"Nothing," Daniels smiled. "I just wanted to assure you that the timeline is restored and that you and Captain Archer will live out your lives as intended."

"So long as nobody messes it up," Trip muttered.

Daniels chuckled again. "We'll be checking in on you from time to time. You are both very important to us, Commander." He reached into his pocket and took out a small, oval device, which he pointed at Trip. "Now, I'm going to have to make you forget all of this. It won't hurt. Goodbye, Trip. Hopefully we won't have cause to meet again."

* * *

Trip blinked and rubbed his eyes. He felt vague and disorientated and a strange sensation stirred in his stomach like he was anticipating something.

He shrugged to himself and dropped a kiss on the forehead of the injured man sleeping in his arms. Thank God Jon was alright, it could been so much worse ...

He frowned as an almost memory crept into his brain. Shrugging again, he chalked it up to exhaustion. His brain couldn't be expected to work properly when he was tired. Time to sleep. He'd need lots of energy to look after Jon properly in the morning—there was some serious pampering to be done.

*The (Happy) End*


End file.
